The Statues Of Ptah
by HeidiFox
Summary: Voldemort found something in his travels, hundreds of gold statues made by the Gods themselves. And the time to start the attack on Hoqwarts is drawing near... WARNINGS: Slash eventually, gore, possible body horror, forced tranformation
1. Chapter 1

**Center of the Hive**

Harry panted tiredly, his arm hanging uselessly against his side. It was over, done. He couldn't believe it. The Final Battle against Voldemort and his army was much bloodier than he could have imagined. There was blood and bodies everywhere, strange golden statues that had come to life and attacked all in range much to the shock of the Deatheaters and their master. A wasp looking one had managed to sting him in the back before an ally could destroy it with a carefully aimed _Bombarda._

The snake faced bastard had managed to hit his arm before Harry had shot a severing charm at his ugly neck, he wasn't sure what the spell was but he couldn't feel his arm anymore. His back was also really starting to hurt, the pain overwhelming his other injuries. Harry groaned and fell to the ground, blacking out to the tired calls of Healers searching for wounded.

000

Healer Brown had only recently become a healer, having gone through a quick month or so of training while in Hogwarts. She was nervous and nauseous, the groans of the wounded suffering under terrible spells and wounds creating a low chorus that she would never forget. She took a deep breath and cast _Sonorous_

"**IF YOU ARE ABLE TO WALK, PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE QUIDDITCH PITCH. HELP FOR THE WOUNDED AND A HEAD COUNT IS WAITING FOR YOU.**"

She removed her wand from her neck and watched as a few people started to stagger to their feet and limp and stumble to the pitch, a few taking the time to levitate a few limp bodies. She again took a deep breath, taking care not to inhale through her nose. Her partner was following silently, face drawn and grave.

Each body was carefully checked for life, not a pulse. A simple wave of her wand with the intent and a shimmer appeared over the face. Silver, the person was 'alive,' possibly not a member of the living community but capable of still being the person before the change. However, a red shimmer…no sign of life or cognitive thought. She hardened her heart as most of the checks came back red or brief silver. The reds were marked with a glowing red orb hovering over the corpse, a flick and muttered _Cinis. _The ones unconscious were levitated to her partner who took over in giving basic healing and sent to the pitch via runners.

She came across many of the golden figures mangled on the ground, the various claws, fangs, and stingers soaked in blood. To her horror, she began to come across members of both sides of the war writhing in the bloody mud, all in various stages of transformation. Her fellow healer placed a reddened hand on her shoulder.

"Look, something's happening."

He pointed, and she _saw. _She saw screaming wizards and witches begin transforming painfully. A boy, no older than a fifth year, squirming on the ground with useless legs as horns sprouted from his skull, all the characteristics of a juvenile Minotaur. A woman nearby was screaming in agony as feathers and talons forced their way through her skin. Lavender looked horrified at a nearby statue of a partially mangled harpy.

A distant scream snapped her out of her daze, just in time to see the distant form of the Savior collapse, a silvery dome appearing where he stood. Lavender Brown watched as his best friend raced to the distant dome, and she…well. She had to continue her work.

000

Ron was slipping in mud and various body parts, he was trying to ignore it. His best friend, the only remaining piece of the golden trio, was consumed by some strange thing. Screaming and transforming people were blocked from his mind as he skidded to halt next to this silver pod, the blood draining further from his face as he saw his best friend's arm still loosely holding his beloved wand. The arm wasn't attached to his friend. His friend's arm was lying next to the pod, steadily gushing what blood was left in the limb. Ron numbly pried the wand from the dead limb as he sank to his knees. The red head was lucky, he knew that. He hadn't been wounded, just a few scratches and what few of those statues had tried to attack him he had managed to destroy before they got too close.

"Don't worry bud. I'll be here, I won't leave. You won't leave me either, right?"

He hesitantly placed his hand on the pod, the silky skin like substance giving slightly. With a sob he carefully leaned on the cocoon containing his friend, passing out from the exhaustion.

Percy was franticly looking for his family, stumbling over bodies in mid transformation. Whatever was changing the many affected was trying to change them into more than one creature, a man ripping himself apart as he tried to shift into what looked like a mer and a harpy. The feathers were shoving through scales and fins as he screamed, Percy cringing as he passed the flailing Former Minister. He found his little sister, slumped against the shattered doors of the castle.

"No, oh merlin, no. Ginny? Ginny, come on sweetie wake up."

He crouched in front of her, gently easing her into his arms. She was as limp as a ragdoll, but he could feel her breath against his neck and inquisitive fingers found a ragged claw mark on her leg. Percy choked back a sob as he looked up; Remus Lupin's mangled corpse was collapsed nearby. A grey haired man was almost lying on what was left of the former professor, almost like he was trying to protect him. Percy couldn't look any longer. He heaved his little sister up and carried her as gently as he could down to the pitch. He tried not to look at the bodies, slipping as he was in muck.

It's been days, and the battle field was slowly being cleaned up. All who participated were being questioned under veritiserum, ironing out who had attacked and who had defended. Ron had not moved. He leaned against the pod, feeling the magic swirl lazily inside and his friend sluggishly pressing against where he laid every once and a while. Boots stepped into his line of vision as they moved to sit next to him, his brother George dropping to kneel next to him. Ron glanced at him and the two wands held in the shaking hands had his eyes closing in grief. A trembling hand pulled his brother against him, the older boy crumpling against him and sobbing. The silver flesh of the pod shimmered as the two lay against it.

The silver skin slowly bent and moved, the two grieving red heads paying the movement no mind. A clawed hand broke through, the pod disintegrating as the magic left the cocoon. Harry struggled to sit up, his right arm was gone. Not even a stub, it was just gone from the shoulder. Not paying any real mind, he leaned against the familiar bodies near him, examining his body. Bold black lines curved their way along his limbs and torso, twisting almost elegantly. His feet and hand were black, fading back into his pale skin, and tipped with sharp looking claws.

"_Harry!"_ Harry was unceremoniously grabbed around his waist and pulled into his best friend's chest. Harry blinked as Ron clutched him and sobbed into his shoulder, another Weasley quickly identified as George sandwiching the transformed Savior between them. He crooned sadly, not really registering that he was not speaking English as he soothed them the best he could.


	2. Chapter 2

Dedicated to Firedrack05

My cat Hero died a week ago today and I'm still…not really over it. He was my baby and my cuddle bug. So I decided to channel some of my…I can't think of the word. So enjoy the next chapter.

Thank you.

The Statues of Ptah

Harry knew he should be devastated, sobbing along with his duo of Weasleys. Something was cloaking it though, '_Not yet,'_ it whispered, '_Heal and soothe.' _Harry crooned again and nuzzled at George, wrapped his arm around Ron. The two slowly stopped their sobbing, hiccupping as they clutched at the one armed teen.

"Harry. Harry, 'Mione's gone. She's…" Ron's face crumpled, a choked sob forcing its way from his throat unbidden. "Dad too, 'e fell protecting Mum." George's arms tightened and forced a grunt from Harry. "I think Mum is alright. Last I saw she was back to back with Mrs. Malfoy." A small smirk flitted across his face, gone as fast as it came. Harry clicked in vague amusement, nudging at George's remaining ear.

"Oi, I'd like to keep at least one ear, mate. Not so loud, eh?" George's smile was tremulous and his voice watery at best, but the smile was there and Harry smiled back. A hand reached up and ran through the transformed savior's hair. "Wonder what you are. Don't really have hair now do ya?"

And Harry was aware. Aware of the minute trembling of exhaustion from the effort of raising that hand, knew that the earless man was suffering from sitting in the cold and bloody mud. Knew that there was very little will to live left in him and _nobody was going to give up on his watch._

Harry ignored the fact that he was completely starker's, the humming veil in his head masking his sheer horror and grief. He heaved himself to his feet, stubbornly dragging the red heads clinging to him so that they were kneeling at his feet and still clinging to his waist. "_This is what we need." _Harry ignored that thought, running his clawed hand through their hair gently, one after the other. He stepped back carefully, pulled them to their feet as he warbled his encouragement. Ron was first to climb to his feet, George almost falling back to the ground if wasn't for his brother helping him. He coaxed them onward, feeling where there was the greatest congregation of people and tried to ignore the slurry of blood, mud, and decomposing parts he was slogging through. Barefoot. Best not to think of that.

They made it to the Quidditch pitch without incident, picking their way through the corpses. The ground was packed with wounded and Healers in once white robes rushed between the narrow spaces cleared between the bodies. Harry watched grimly as a body was covered and levitated underneath the stands. "Can't be disrespectin' the dead," the Healer explained tiredly as she trudged past,"Best to tuck them away from busy feet."

Ron was now helping Harry support his despondent brother, dragging him to the goal posts where a large potions station was set up. Snape is there, ragged and paler than usual, thick off-white bandages hiding his neck and bare chest. "Get him to drink this and lay him down with the others." Snape is quick and precise, handing a small vial to Ron, his other three arms continuing to stir the many smoking cauldrons. He didn't blink at the sight, just took the bottle and dragged his brother to a clear spot against the one of the seating's wall.

Harry gently eased George down, thrumming as gently as he could to the red head, placing his head on his crossed legs. He carefully opened the clenched jaws, allowing Ron to pour the potion down the reluctant man's throat. George swallowed slowly, breath evening as he was dropped into a dreamless sleep. He ran his clawed hand gently through the dirty red hair, '_This is good,' _that voice whispered, '_mark him.' _Harry didn't even think about it, he leaned down and gently rubbed his cheek along his hair. A low buzz emanated from the back of his throat as he nosed along the sleeping man's face, a high rattle accompanying and complimenting the buzz.

"Harry? Mate, what are you doin'?" Ron murmured, staring tiredly at his friend. Harry just buzzed louder and patted Ron's face absently. "You look like a bee. Why are you bein' a cat?" He narrowed his eyes at Harry, not really noticing when his eyes slipped shut entirely.

He snaps immediately awake when he feels something carefully grip the back of his neck. Ron thrashes to life, fighting the hold on his neck and bucking at the body that was trying to hold him down. He couldn't get away, they got him _and he can't get away nononononono! _"Zzztik!" A familiar voice shouts and that's his friend, _his brother._ His panic eases as he opens his eyes to see the strange creature his friend has become. His messy black hair is now some form of spines or spikes, still somehow seeming haphazard, that are shaking and rattling. The face is blessedly still the same, even with the newer wounds having turned into ropes and lines of dark pink flesh. Harry looks at him with concern gently stroking his hair with his only arm, the expression twisting the scar that extended from his famous lightning bolt and through where his eyebrows were. The skin has turned a light gold with thick bands of black striping his arm and legs, bracketing the shoulders and back; but not touching his neck chest and belly.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!" And Ron now knows exactly what his friends teeth looked like as he screeched in his face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, and jeez you got a set of lungs." The red head winced as he rubbed at his ringing ear. Harry just looked relieved and hugged him as best he could. Ron winced as his sore body protested but ignored it and just clutched him closer. And turned red at realizing his best friend and brother was completely starker. "Uh, Harry?"

"Mm?"

"You're naked."


	3. Chapter 3

I LIVE! Don't be mad ^^' I'm working on All the queens Men too!

As I finish typing this, Homestuck has ended, and I don't know how I feel about that.

The Statues of Ptah

George smirked tiredly as his younger brother stared bemused at a very embarrassed Harry Potter. "Creee! Kkkkrrrr-oo-oo-n, zzzzzeer!" The red head raised an eyebrow as Harry's spine things flattened to his head. The brunette seemed to be trying to climb his way into Ron's clothing, clawed hand catching at the tattered and filthy shirt.

" 'Arry, wha..? Stop rubbin' ya junk on me!" He rasped indignantly.

"C'mon Ronnie-kins, give 'em your shirt." George huffed, listing tiredly to the side. "Unless you like it, eh?" He snickered at the high pitched squawk, both of their heads whipped around to stare at him with offended frowns. The scene was very compromising, amusing to those who knew them, but compromising. One side of Ron's shirt was shoved halfway up his stomach, a naked Harry straddled across his lap with his one arm straining to hold back both of Ron's. Yup, very innocent.

A mediwizard approaches cautiously, wand clearly displayed and hand held away from her side. She seems tired and amused a small quirk of the lips as all three stare at her wide eyed. "I'm just going to put some clothes on you, alright?" The wand hand slowly shifts in front of her, tip still not pointing at the three men. Harrys spines slowly stand back up as he stares back.

"Oi, mate," Ron huffed, "Let 'er put some bloody pants on ya." The spines slick back as Harry gives a buzzing whine.

She takes the chance, swirling her wand carefully, materializing a white pair of pants. "That's the extent of my permanent conjuration skill, unfortunately. Trousers are a bit beyond my ability." She shifts closer to George, kneeling next to him. "I need to examine your wounds. Is it alright for me to approach?"

Ron tightens his grip on a tense Harry, nodding his assent. As the mediwizard tilts Georges head to examine what's left of his ear an audible, ominous, whine comes from the still Saviors chest. Her wand glows a soothing white as she traces it steadily along the scabbed and messy flesh, leaving behind a cleaner wound. The beginning of the large, irritated gash starts in the middle of his left cheek, spreading and widening to the width of his hand as it reached his ear and abruptly ended a little after where it used to be.

"A glancing blow with an object, no spell damage that I can detect." She murmurs to herself. "_Ferula." _Her wand began to shake as the bandages flowing from the spell are guided to carefully wrap the large wound. "There, any other open wounds?" Her question was aimed at George but she gave the restrained Savior an assessing glance, the spines are Harry head beginning to rattle in unease.

"None thanks." Ron's reply is strained as Harry visibly jolts in the bear hug he is wrapped in, eyes glued to the Mediwizards wand. She follows his gaze and winces, lowering the wand away from Georges' face and releasing his chin.

The bandaged man smirks tiredly, "Ta, love." She rolls her eyes playfully, straightening up and leaving to see to another patient. George slumps tiredly, slowly sliding until he's resting against a striped thigh, "Things…are going to change, aren't they?"

Ron's face twists into a grimace, "Yeah, hopefully for the better." His grip on harry had loosened, allowing the man to twist and nuzzle against white bandages, a low and comforting creak issuing from deep in his throat. Ron Didn't mention to his brother that he could already see distrust and paranoia forming among the less badly wounded, focused on those attacked by the strange statues.

_6 Months Later_

Malfoy Manor is quiet; no breeze ruffles the trees, no animals move. Moonlight paints the massive lawns silver and makes the marble building glow in an ethereal light. Inside, the halls are likewise deserted, doors shut tight and portraits quietly patrolling through the paintings. The opulence of the place is disturbed by a few signs of inhabitance, a few shoes left by a shut door, a vase filled with flowers and a book splayed open next to it. It has the presence of being lived in, the very walls breathing memories and accumulated magic.

Ron Weasley is not asleep; he stares out the window of his shared room, and broods. What's left of his family is piled in the large suite, not being able to stand being apart. Ginny was curled at the foot of one of the large beds, Percy huddled near her. George and Bill were cuddled against Arthur's sides near the top of the bed, pillows scattered and duvet shoved under their heads. The smaller bed held Charlie, where Ron had awoken laying on him. The younger brother ran a tired hand down his face, a lot had happened in the six months after the battle.

After the minister's gruesome end and the Dark Lords demise, the power vacuum was enormous and it took very little time for those not involved in the fighting to start squabbling over it. The wounded and transformed were tired, tired of fighting and reeling from the loss of loved ones, not noticing the political maneuvers until it was too late. A new legislation was put into place using the wizarding worlds lingering fear over Voldemort's Dark Army, a register for those affected by the gold statues. All affected were to be registered '_So that their species needs may be met_,' his freckled white arse. Registered Afflicted had been tagged like cattle, a magic infused stamp in the shape of a paw on the side of their neck.

The Malfoys had kidnapped as many as they could before the Aurors began knocking on doors, Lucius' political influence and status giving him a heads up to the act before it happened, not enough notice to stop it, but enough to do something about it. Lord and Lady Malfoy had rallied their army of house elves and began kidnapping the Afflicted in a bid to save them from what was shaping up to be a life of misery. The frightened creatures were stunned and left on the decadent floors of the Manor as they continued to bring more and more, house elves freeing those that understood and were willing to help. After, when the rescuers were almost comatose from magical fatigue everyone found out why and how. Draco Malfoy, their beloved son, had been Afflicted. Large jackal like ears rose from his head and flickered at the lightest sound, his jaw extended in a short muzzle filled with sharp teeth. His pale skin replaced with a thin, ebony coat of fur, contrasting sharply with his still white-blonde hair and icy eyes. He was the cause and he was the one to rally the elves, their magic perfect for pinpointing people and creatures along with the fact that most wards didn't block them from entry.

And so the seat of the Dark Lords short reign of terror became The Haven. Family and friends still human were allowed in only after a questioning of Veritiserum proved their intentions. A surprising number turned up at the doors once the Afflicted were taken. But only a fraction of them were allowed access to the Manor grounds. The Afflicted learned to 'love one another,' as it were, after that.

Ron slipped quietly from the room and walked down the hall, neatly and absently dodging the decorations and various belongings forgotten on the ground. He didn't need a light, even without the large windows to let in the moonlight; he could find his way to this wing blindfolded. The south wing of the manor had been converted, again with the help of the house elves, to hold the more picky creatures. Hybrids and tropical Afflicted ended up in this wing, along with those that needed a space to call exclusively their own. The massive scar on the red heads leg from a Sphinx Afflicted was evidence enough for that. Calming Harry down from his possessive fit had been interesting afterwards though.

Throughout his musing, Ron had made his way to the large south wing and picked his way carefully to a rope hanging in the further corner. This particular rope was colored a bright yellow, to protect from confusion on what rope leads where. He gave it a tug and began climbing it clumsily, the scar tissue in his leg pulling uncomfortably. A clawed hand reached down and helped pull him up once he was close enough, heaving him onto the sturdy floor. "Hey Ron, what are you doing awake this early?"

The red head smiled at his transformed friend, panting lightly from the exertion, "Oh, ya know, thought I'd take a stroll."

Harry rolled his eyes- well; Ron thought he rolled his eyes. The things were solid green!-, "Riiiight. And Malfoy doesn't try to chase cats." Ron smiled sheepishly at his friend, rubbing the back of his head. "Well come on in, mine as well stay here till the hour is actually decent."

The thing Harry had somehow built was a lot like a beehive in shape, but with a hammock thing in the corner and some sort of wicker, he really hopes its wicker, chairs added once the Afflicted savior had snapped out of his instincts. Ron sits in what he's dubbed 'his' chair, facing his one armed friend as he drops into a similar chair opposite him. They just bask in each other's company quietly, the dawn beginning to rise and dying the air grey. It's as the light is beginning to turn a beautiful pink that Harry finally speaks again, "You don't usually come up here without using a levitation charm Ron. What's wrong?" The red head winces and runs a hand through his hair, is he really that transparent? "Yeah mate, ya kinda are. Even _I _can read your face like an open book."

He chuckles mirthlessly, "Sometimes you're too observant for your own good, Harry." His spines raise and an eyebrow arches expectantly. "It's just stress. Can't sleep." The spines on Harry's head start a low rattle. Ron attempts to avoid his expectant best friends gaze, looking everywhere but him. The buzzing slowly turns to a rattle as the red head continues to avoid answering.

"Ron."

He says nothing.

"Ron."

Arms cross and he stares at his feet.

"Ron, please."

His friends pleading tone is his undoing. Ron glances at his friends' concerned face and sighs. "Really mate, it's just stress. I'm worried about all the instincts that are starting to turn up in the Afflicted. Pretty sure I saw a harpy eyeing veela."

The solid green eyes seem to soften, "Ron the instincts are always there. It's a sign that everyone is healing and accepting themselves."

"I doubt if the Malfoys will let everyone just start...breeding, willy nilly!" Ron burst out, worry lining his face. "And! And we don't have the supplies for that! The grounds can only support so many even with the house elves and nature Afflicted helping out!" He's gesturing sharply, trying to get his point across even if he's not sure what it is.

"So, we need to find more sanctuary? Or pull an Atlantis for all the magical creatures? Warding and making a small country 'disappear?'" That damnable eyebrow was raised again.

"Yes! Either that or hold seminars to help everyone hold back their instincts!" HE throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Ron," Harry began, voice grave and holding an undercurrent of insect-like buzzing, "Holding the instincts back is hard. Unbelievably hard. Every morning I wake up and spend time wrestling with my need to expand my 'hive.'" He hooks two fingers in the air when he says hive, but his expression stays serious. "I'm not a common creature, but at the same time I have this feeling, _screaming _at me, to expand and make more of me. Now for a species we thought extinct, that feeling is a _voice_ for them. Still screaming. We're getting to the point where shutting it up is our main priority. I'll talk to them, but we need to find a better place."

Harry had begun running his hand through Ron's hair sometime during the speech, his voice reducing to a soft chirr as he saw the red head had fallen asleep at some point during his speech. He nuzzles his best friend's hair, murmuring, "We'll think of something. Don't worry. We just have to hurry; this peace won't last much longer."


End file.
